


The High Road

by wonder_womans_ex



Category: Sweater Weather - Lumosinlove
Genre: Bandit AU, Kidnapping, Logan is way too gay for this shit honestly, M/M, Multi, Please ignore the vastly incorrect historical references, Prince Logan of France
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 11:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30054471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonder_womans_ex/pseuds/wonder_womans_ex
Summary: Logan is a chooser. He can have whatever he wants—whenever he wants—if he just so much as asks.Finn is a beggar. He takes what he can get, and these days, that could be anything from a knife wound to the most expensive piece of jewelry in the world.And Leo?Well.Leo makes his own rules.
Relationships: Leo Knut/Finn O'Hara/Logan Tremblay (lumosinlove)
Kudos: 2





	The High Road

**Author's Note:**

> Moodboards for the fic can be found [ here ](https://wonder-womans-ex.tumblr.com/post/645423043626385408/logan-the-chooser), [ here ](https://wonder-womans-ex.tumblr.com/post/645659907489726464/finn-the-beggar), and [ here ](https://wonder-womans-ex.tumblr.com/post/645701576820916224/leo-the-wild-one)
> 
> thanks to heyitssmiller for beta reading

There is a man in Logan’s room. 

For a moment, he stands there in the doorway, motionless, because that fact alone is a little difficult to come to terms with. There is a man in Logan’s room. 

He’s not just in the room; he’s sitting cross-legged on the foot of Logan’s bed, picking at a loose thread on one of the blankets. Logan, still stunned, shuts the door behind him, and the man looks up abruptly at the sound. 

He jumps to his feet, bowing and saying “Your Highness,” at the same time as Logan starts to fire questions at him. “How did you get in here?” he demands first, and, without waiting for a response, moves onto “Why are you here? Who are you?”

He doesn’t expect an answer, but he gets one—and what an answer it is.

“My name,” the man says with an air of great importance, “is Leo Knut.” 

There’s a pause. “Never heard of you,” Logan tells him. 

“Good.”

Another pause. Logan takes a step forward, then two, until he’s close enough to get a good look at the intruder. There’s a black bandana covering his mouth and nose, and another pulled over his hair, but a blond curl is still peeking out and falling over his forehead. A slit has been cut into one of his slender, pale eyebrows, and it takes Logan a few seconds to tear his gaze away, but he’s glad once he does. He meets Leo’s eyes, and he’ll be damned if they aren’t the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen. 

He could get lost in those eyes—they’re a bright, sunny blue, speckled with glints of sapphire and shimmering aquamarine; they seem to glow in the same way a cloud does when it passes in front of the sun—and, indeed, he does. Reclaiming his senses takes a few moments, but it’s worth it for the energy that passes between them. He and Leo are a current, brighter even than the sun shining outside, and Logan starts to mourn the loss of that current the instant he forces himself to look away.

“You were wondering how I got in here?”

So, sure, it’s not the first time Logan has heard him speak, but it’s almost like it is. Before, he had only been able to hear Leo’s words, not his voice, but now it’s a completely different story. Leo’s accent washes over him, and it takes him a moment to place it—American, he realizes now, which means that the boy standing in front of him has roots buried halfway across the world—but once he has, he’s _gone_. 

“I—I was, yeah,” he stammers, trying not to blush. Leo scrunches his eyebrows up, and then he turns and steps back to sit once more on the bed. One hand, fitted snugly into a fingerless black glove, pats the space next to him, and Logan sits, trying not to show how flustered he truly is. The wool blanket is rough against his palms, so he folds them into his lap. He imagines he must look like an idiot—a stuck-up idiot, for that matter—or some sort of damsel in distress, but it’s worth it if he gets to be just that much closer to Leo. 

“Well,” begins Leo, earnestly meeting Logan’s eyes once more, “first I had to distract the guards. They’re good at their jobs, you know, especially the one by the west gate…”

The apparent problem with Leo, Logan reasons, is that there’s just so _much_ of him. Not physically, no—in fact, he’s on the slighter side, muscular but with the leanness of someone who knows what it’s like to go for days at a time without proper food—but he’s overflowing with personality. Passionate is not a word Logan uses often, but it truly is the only word that comes to mind when he thinks about Leo Knut. 

Well, not the _only_ word. There are a few others, too, on the tip of his tongue: beautiful; vibrant; charming; the only thing ever envied by the sun itself, but passionate is the one that gives him the least pause; it’s the one that needs no modification or analysis. Leo is passion. Passion is Leo. To Logan, at least, it makes sense in a way very little ever has before. It can’t have been even a quarter hour since Leo entered his life, but already Logan knows he’ll never recover. 

Leo’s voice is like honey. It’s like melted butter in a frying pan. It’s like dipping his toes into cold, clear water on a hot summer’s day. It’s like waking up in the morning to sunshine streaming through the gap in his curtains. It’s like laughing and crying all at once. Logan’s strong suit may not be description, but there is no world in which he could not write poetry about Leo Knut’s voice. 

Logan has always fallen in love fast, and this is no exception. 

“...that’s the brilliant part, see? The others think they’ve seen an intruder, so they shoot, and the one at the west gate runs off to see what all the commotion is. Now I’m free to get past his post, and—Logan? Are you listening?”

Logan starts. “How do you know my name?” he asks, somewhat stupidly. 

“I don’t think there’s anyone from here to Prussia who _doesn’t_ know your name, Lo.”

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Logan’s heart really does not melt inside at ‘Lo.’ Plenty of people call him that—his sisters do; most of his friends do; heck, even a few of the servants he’s known for a while. 

But Leo is not plenty of people. 

“Oh,” says Logan, “right.”

“ _‘Oh,’_ he says, like he isn’t the heir to the fucking _throne of France_ —”

“Shut up, Leo!” Logan protests playfully. At least, he tries to pass it off as playful—he’d be lying if he tried to tell himself he isn’t flirting. After all, there’s something truly intimate about using someone’s name in conversation when alone. 

It rolls off his tongue right, too—out loud, it sounds like some sort of tree spirit, or a star in the night sky. For a moment, he even entertains the thought that perhaps Leo is a prince, too; he knows what it’s like to be royalty and can therefore understand Logan’s life in a way so few people can. But just as quickly, he lets himself acknowledge that Leo is no prince. 

For Leo’s hands, when Logan reaches out towards them and takes them in his own, are rough and calloused. These are the hands of a woodworker, or of a hunter. They are not at all like Logan’s own soft, pale, occasionally-inkstained ones, and this alone is proof that he and Leo are and always will be worlds apart. 

He knows why it matters to him, but he also knows why it shouldn’t—after all, there is no world in which he and Leo would ever be able to love each other, anyway. Not when the law and the people and everything else Logan was born to uphold are against it. 

Leo smiles—or, at least, his eyes squint in the telltale way that _means_ he’s smiling—but, even from what little Logan can see of his face, there’s something off about it. It’s halfway between awkwardness and confusion, and Logan isn’t sure there’s a word for exactly what it conveys. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t protest or resist when Leo gently pulls his hands out of Logan’s grasp—or maybe there’s another reason, too. 

“You didn’t answer my other question,” he points out, simply to continue the conversation. He’s not entirely sure what he’d do if he doesn’t hear Leo’s voice again _right now_ , and he doesn’t think he really wants to. “What are you doing here?” 

Leo nods thoughtfully, eyes seeming to darken. His entire personality shifts. He no longer has happiness radiating from every inch of him; he no longer seems to emit warmth like he’s a fire. He becomes cooler and more poised and almost more vicious, but in a way that is, paradoxically, anything but angry. He’s still smiling, though, and Logan has no idea what to think of that. “I’m here to kidnap you.”

It takes Logan a second to register this. Once he does, however, his hands clench into fists and he’s immediately on the defensive. “What?” he asks, but it’s clear this is a _how dare you_ ‘what’ and not a _please repeat yourself; I think I misheard_ ‘what.’ “You—that’s illegal! You can’t just tell the prince of France you’re planning to kidnap him and expect him to let you get away with it!” 

He’s blustering, and he knows it. “I could get you arrested, you know. Every guard on this floor will come running if I just so much as scream!”

It happens so fast he nearly misses it. One second, they’re sitting next to each other, a good two feet between them, and the next, Logan is flat on his back against the pillows, Leo pinning him down with one knee on either side of his torso and his left hand holding both of Logan’s wrists above his head. The other hand is pressing something sharp and cold into Logan’s neck, and he knows without having to look that it’s some sort of dagger. Leo’s bandana has slipped down, too, and his whole face is visible for the first time. 

“You could,” Leo agrees, grinning to reveal a narrow gap between his front teeth and two perfect dimples, “but you’re not going to.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr: [wonder-womans-ex](https://wonder-womans-ex.tumblr.com/)
> 
> asks are always open :)


End file.
